


35/3500 Fic Fest - "Do you value wealth?"

by berlynn_wohl



Series: The 35/3500 Fic Fest [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sugar Daddy Hannibal, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will just wants to know where he and Hannibal stand. He ends up in something other than a standing position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	35/3500 Fic Fest - "Do you value wealth?"

**Author's Note:**

> In the spring of 2016, I reached 3500 followers on Tumblr. And if that wasn’t a big enough thrill, I’m about to turn 35. Yikes! I decided to celebrate both of these things by writing 35 fics for my loyal readers. I mined lists of Ask Box memes from sendmesomenumbers.tumblr.com to use as prompts for each fic. 
> 
> Fics of over 1000 words (like this one!) are each posted separately on AO3; all the Hannistag fics are grouped in a single collection, and everything else under 1000 words I grouped into a second collection. Check out my series “The 35/3500 Fic Fest” to read all of them!

Will was sweating all over, though his mouth was uncomfortably dry. He fidgeted on the porch, waiting for Hannibal to answer the door. He had rushed over after work, and arrived a few minutes earlier than Hannibal’s invitation had called for, but he just couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to have his questions answered. Whatever the situation turned out to be, he would accept it, but not _knowing_ what it was had been driving him crazy for a week, and the last few hours had been the most agonizing of it. He just wanted to find out what was happening next, as far as he and Hannibal were concerned.

If Hannibal felt the same way, or if he noticed Will’s anxiety, he did not mention it, between opening the door and inviting Will into the kitchen. While rolling out a ball of dough, he asked Will about his day, asked how he felt about truffles (which were on the menu that evening), and just generally drove Will into a frenzy with his casual demeanor.

When Hannibal offered Will a glass of wine, Will snapped, “No, it’s fine, I’ll wait for dinner,” and his tone was so strained, Hannibal looked up from his work to ask if something was the matter.

“No, I mean yes, I mean…” Will looked at the array of dishes being prepared, in various states of readiness, and said, “Well, I’ve got one question answered, anyway.”

Now Hannibal was pressing little bundles of something, presumably the truffles, between folds of the dough. “What question is that?” he asked.

“Whether you actually invited me over for dinner, or whether we were just going to fuck.”

Hannibal did not even look up this time, but he seemed amused by Will’s filthy language and his implication. “You were worried that, because we are now in a sexual relationship, that I would only be interested in your company for the purpose of sex?”

“Okay, that’s two questions answered,” Will said. “I also didn’t know whether it was a relationship. We didn’t talk about it afterward, and I spent the last week wondering if you thought it was a mistake, or I don’t know what.”

“Do _you_ think that it was a mistake?”

“No, I think…I want to think of it whatever you think of it.”

With an elegant economy of movement, Hannibal used a pastry wheel to make large but perfectly tidy raviolis from the stuffed pockets of dough. “I enjoyed myself,” he said, “and I got the impression that you did too, and I would like for it to happen again. But as regards the first concern that you mentioned, I assure you I would never invite a guest over with the promise of a meal and not provide that meal, no matter how sexually inclined I was towards that person. Frankly, I’m a little insulted that you think I would.”

“I didn’t mean to insult your reputation for sterling hospitality,” Will said tersely. “It’s just, I don’t know how this stuff works. If I ever understood what the rules are, I don’t anymore.”

“Why are you concerned with rules?” Hannibal asked, setting aside the raviolis and moving on to an arrangement of antipasti.

“I’m concerned with _your_ rules. I have a feeling you have rules about this stuff in your life.”

“Did you break any rules that you thought _you_ had? Might that be the reason for your anxiety?”

Will’s laugh was bitter, self-deprecating. “I might have had rules at some point, but they became irrelevant around maybe year three of my celibacy.”

“Self-imposed?”

“Sometimes I tell myself that, yeah.”

Hannibal set down the corkscrew he’s just taken from the drawer, and walked around the kitchen island to where Will was shifting from foot to foot. He placed his hands on Will’s arms, drawing him close, making him stand still.

“Will,” he said softly. “I’m very attracted to you, I feel that my life has been enriched by your friendship, and I would like to be with you, romantically, sexually, for the foreseeable future. I could spend hours detailing for you why I feel this way, and all the ways I hope to win the same affection in return, but if I do that right now, dinner will get cold. So I would prefer for the moment that you have a seat at my table.”

Chastened, Will nodded. He kept his eyes on the floor, making his way to the dining room while Hannibal plated the food. When Hannibal joined Will in the dining room, he acted as if no awkward conversation had just taken place. He cheerily served the first course – “Rosemary-coated Manchego, anchovies, olive tapenade, stuffed dolma, prosciutto, and semolina bread” – and poured Will a glass of old Burgundy.

Will watched Hannibal to figure out which of the items could be picked up with the fingers and which required a utensil. The dolma in particular perplexed him, but he followed Hannibal’s example, using his bare hands and consuming them leaf and all.

“This is all really amazing,” Will remarked, spreading tapenade on a crispy slice of bread. “I’d love to have it again sometime, but now I’m wondering: do you ever cook the same thing twice?”

“I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. Strictly speaking one never uses the same ingredients twice, and so every meal has a unique personality.”

Will nodded at this; he could hardly disagree.

“Truth be told,” Hannibal said, “I’m sure I would burn with envy if you were to detail for me all the meals you had the privilege of enjoying during your time in New Orleans. That is a city where cuisine with personality is truly a way of life.”

“You’re not wrong,” Will shrugged, “but I’m afraid I must disappoint you. My time in New Orleans was spent as a broke college student and a rookie cop. I ate more Spam and donuts than étouffée and beignets.”

“That’s a pity. Perhaps sometime in the near future I can take you to New Orleans for a week or two of fine food and a little sightseeing. If you’ll indulge me.”

Will shifted in his seat. Between his admission of poverty and Hannibal’s offer to spoil him with a vacation, Will was suddenly sharply reminded of Hannibal’s exceptional wealth. Not that he could ever truly forget it, what with Hannibal’s eccentrically classy attire and his immense and elaborately-furnished home. But neither of them ever spoke about the disparity of their respective socioeconomic statuses. Will wondered if Hannibal saw him as a project, a promising proto-paramour who just needed a new wardrobe and a crash course in oenophilia so that he could be brought to the opera without fear of embarrassment.

However, when Hannibal followed up his offer by inquiring, “Would you like that, Will?” he answered honestly: “Yes.” He’d love to return to New Orleans, and experience how the other half lived.

Hannibal left briefly to retrieve the second course. “The pasta is very fresh, so it will only need to cook for a moment. I will return promptly,” he promised.

While he was gone, Will pondered further the idea of living like a rich person. Never before had he bothered to consider the concept of “not worrying about money”: just choosing a hotel, a restaurant, a mode of transportation that was most comfortable and convenient, and handing over a credit card without a thought for the expense. But now that Hannibal had mentioned it, Will imagined he might like it. Maybe just a little. He wouldn’t get used to it, though, because sooner or later, Hannibal would probably get tired of him, realize he could do better, and move on.

Hannibal returned with two plates, one on his hand and one balanced on his arm, holding a bottle of olive oil in the other hand. “Crab, carrot and black truffle ravioli with chard,” he explained, sprinkling each dish with a final dash of olive oil before placing it in front of Will. He also refreshed Will’s glass of wine, before re-seating himself. Will was about to remark once again on how wonderful the food looked, but Hannibal quickly picked up the conversation thread where they had left it.

“It occurred to me, in the kitchen just now, that I was being presumptuous about New Orleans as a vacation destination. I didn’t think to ask you where you might like to go.”

“To be honest, I don’t give a lot of thought to vacations. New Orleans was a great idea.”

“Something that speaks more to your hobbies, though. Kona, perhaps, or Punta Burica, for blue marlin fishing?”

Will chuckled, shook his head. “No, prestige fishing doesn’t interest me. Just a little fly-fishing for trout in the river by my house, that can’t be improved on, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that. The things that delight you, money cannot buy.” Hannibal paused to take a bite before adding, “I’ll just have to try harder.”

Will’s heart leapt to hear this, for he realized then: Hannibal was right. Will could not be tempted by the promise of extravagance and luxury. He was sitting here with Hannibal because Hannibal made him feel good, made him feel less alone in this world. (And, he had discovered more recently, the sex was also excellent.) And Hannibal was probably smitten with him for the same reason, which was flattering, so that made him feel good as well. He was certain that Hannibal wanted them to be friends even more than he himself did, though he had warmed up to Hannibal considerably since their first meeting. For all that Hannibal might have slept on a mattress stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, Will realized that ultimately, _he_ was the one in charge. Hannibal’s money, status, and power could not keep Will around, if Will changed his mind about how he felt about Hannibal’s companionship.

Now, the more Will looked at Hannibal’s tailored suit, his pretentious herb garden, and his fine dinnerware, the more powerful he felt – and that _excited_ him. He smirked at his own train of thought – an hour ago he was worried that his friendship with Hannibal would degrade into frenzied but meaningless sex, and now he was giving Hannibal his best fuck-me eyes across the table, perfectly happy to forego dessert in favor of other activities.

It occurred to him that his amorous inclination in the midst of a discussion of Hannibal’s willingness to spoil him could easily be interpreted by Hannibal as something more vulgar – a willingness on Will’s part to be generous with his sexual favors in exchange for Hannibal’s generosity with his finances. That was fine. Let Hannibal think that.

Hannibal returned his amorous gaze, but stuck to his guns about seeing the meal through, even the dessert. Will made a show of savoring the peaches and mascarpone, licking the spoon clean with every bite and rolling his eyes with ecstasy.

Once Will had exhausted every smidgen of cream, Hannibal rose from the table. Will asked, “Would you like me to help clear the dishes?”

“That won’t be necessary just yet,” Hannibal said. He rounded the table and stood next to Will, close enough that Will could smell his tasteful aftershave. Hannibal doffed his tailored coat and hung it on the back of an empty chair, before leaning down to kiss Will deeply. While his tongue reacquainted itself with Will’s mouth, Will reached out to unbutton Hannibal’s waistcoat and loosen his gaudy silk tie.

When he put his hands on the shirt underneath these accoutrements, he was amazed at the richness of the fabric. He was no sartorial aficionado, but he could see and feel how well-made it was, no doubt tailored just as meticulously as the suit. Meanwhile, Hannibal was smoothly removing his cufflinks – no buttons for his cuffs, why would he, when he could sport Kiton Napoli cufflinks?

They continued to undress each other, powering through even when shucking so many layers became less novel and more laborious. Will was amused by Hannibal’s determination to have all their clothes off for this encounter. Fucking on the dining room table was an act firmly in the realm of new, passionate love affairs, which usually meant just enough clothing pushed aside to facilitate the act. Taking the time to get both parties completely naked for it, though? That was a little freaky, though it was not at all surprising to Will that Hannibal would have it that way.

Shoes, socks, belts, ties, it all had to be unfastened and dealt with, but when it was done, Hannibal grabbed Will’s behind and hoisted him onto the table. As if by reflex, Will clasped Hannibal’s waist with his thighs, and clutched Hannibal’s shoulders to pull them down together, as he leaned back onto the table, surrounded by crystal glasses, china plates, and silver utensils.

They ground against each other until it became maddening, at which point Will released Hannibal from his grip and let him snatch up the olive oil. Hannibal still had a modicum of composure, and managed to pour the oil over his thick, throbbing cock without getting too much on the table or the floor. He barely pressed one slick finger into Will before excitement overcame him and he just pushed his cock inside. Will grunted at being penetrated with almost no preamble, but he was still willing and able. He trapped Hannibal between his legs again, ankles crossed behind the small of Hannibal’s back. But Hannibal was not satisfied with this. He grabbed one calf in each hand and pulled Will’s legs apart, then lifted them to rest one ankle on each shoulder. This changed the angle and deepened the penetration dramatically. Will groaned, “Oh fuck, what just happened,” when he felt Hannibal working his cock even deeper inside.

Will closed his eyes and thought of doing this in New Orleans, a long, languid day of being spoiled with sightseeing and rich food, and then being ridden hard by his sugar daddy. This hard wooden table was just for tonight. Soon, he would be getting fucked on satin sheets, on velvet-cushioned Louis XVI chaise lounges, perhaps even on a chartered jet.

Hannibal maintained his grip on Will’s ankles as he pumped. Will was stroking himself, his cock drooling onto his belly, when he noticed the light glinting off Hannibal’s watch; probably owing to absentmindedness in the heat of passion, he still wore it, though he wore nothing else. Hannibal saw Will looking at it, and gave it a glance himself. “Do you like this watch, Will? I’ll buy you one just like it.”

Will panted, “What did it cost?”

“One hundred and seventy six thousand dollars,” Hannibal said, and the way he gazed into Will’s eyes, Will knew that this astounding figure was not an exaggeration meant to impress. That was it; he started to come, and thinking about what Hannibal had just offered, he kept coming, so hard that his vision whited out and he could not restrain a twisted cry.

Will’s uncontrollable, thrashing climax triggered Hannibal’s, and he pounded Will as hard as he could, panting with exertion, until the head of his spent prick became too sensitive for him to continue. Will was soon thinking what many, many people before him had thought just after orgasm: _Why did that push me over the edge? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not like that._

Hannibal seemed unperturbed, and said nothing about what had just happened; he helped Will get to his feet, and invited him to share a shower.

“You haven’t seen the shower in the master suite yet,” he said. “It features heated Tuscan tiles and three thermostatic rainfall showerheads that can be adjusted to a massage setting.”

Will shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “That’ll do, I guess.”

Hannibal smiled. He was looking forward to a shower, himself, but he was also thinking a little farther into the future – specifically, where might be the best secluded spot to which to take Will for a drive…in his Bentley.


End file.
